The Secret Picture
by Scuttlest
Summary: Fate had seen fit to take from her the Grustian she loved, and have her marry a man her heart did not belong to. At night, only at night, could the Archanean Queen reflect on the man she lost. FE11.


**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

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Royal banners were limp and motionless in the halls of the Archanean Palace. No wind moved through these stone corridors, nothing to make the banners move, let alone snap boldly. The torches seemed cold, for all the warmth they provided. Most of the movement was made by soldiers and knights on patrols, with their dour faces concealed by their helms.

For a supposedly 'holy' building, it frequently felt disconcertingly impersonal and unfriendly. No one saw and felt the coldness quite as much as the nation's Queen. Nyna, the daughter of the last King, and seen by some as the Divine's selected arbiter since taking the throne, sat quietly in her bedchamber. To many, she seemed to be a woman who had everything. Power, wealth, beauty, an army of soldiers and vassals, and a husband who loved her dearly.

And yet…

She sat at the foot of her bed, her weight creasing the sheets that servants had been prepping to perfection for hours on end. Her eyelids drooped, not from fatigue, though it would have been natural to be tired at this hour of night. A crescent moon had risen, reflecting a pale, weak light upon the Archanean landscape. Yet the meager light could not pierce the dark veil that choked the land at this time. The darkness had already chased most of the nation to their bedchambers, Nyna as well.

The seducing call of the pillow and sheets is not what was on Nyna's mind right now, however. She felt absolutely miserable. The woman who everyone said had everything, felt miserable. They said she had 'everything', but she _didn't_ have everything, there was one very particular thing she doubted she would ever have. One thing she would have sacrificed everything to have again, even if just for a moment.

She slowly stood up and walked to the shelves of her bedchamber. It was lined with small portraits, held in frames small enough to hold in the hand. Only the most highly regarded of artists and painters would have the privilege of making a portrait for someone of her status. In times past Nyna would have felt her heart lift at the pictures, those of her and her family, but her beating heart only felt bitterness now. Perhaps partially because of the death, or more accurately, the brutal murder, of her parents. The greater cause of her grief, however, was because of something else.

Her hands grabbed one frame, the picture within being the only one that had been painted since she had been named Queen. It depicted her and her husband, King Hardin. Hardin, the prince from the plains nation of Aurelis, had met Nyna during the Dolhr Empire's conquest of the land. She had been trying to escape and fled to Aurelis, and she wound up under the protection of the Aurelian royal family. It did not take much time after that, Hardin, the prince of Aurelis, fell for the princess he was keeping safe from enemy hands. By the time Nyna noticed, the feelings were strong, and would have been impossible to dissuade, through either gentle or harsh means.

She was not unaccustomed to being the object of attraction. Prior to the war, she had seen more then a few Archanean men, sons of influential houses, with that look in their eyes, but she always ignored them. She normally wrote them off as people more interested in the throne then in her. Yet, Hardin… she could see the honest and true affection. For all the respect she had for him… she did not return the feeling.

When the war ended in Dolhr's defeat, Nyna did not want to hurt Hardin, a true and selfless hero of the war, and hoped that she and Hardin would just quietly go back to their own nations. Unfortunately, Bishop Boah of Archanea, the first person Nyna would have gone to for advice on any matter, had different wishes. Archanea _needed_ a King, it could not be ruled only by a Queen, Boah reasoned. Also, having endured an occupation by enemy forces, Boah knew that getting the holy nation back on its feet with full speed would likely mean assistance from another nation. He envisioned a solution that would take care of both problems in a single move. Nyna knew exactly what this meant, she also knew exactly which man she would have wanted as her foreign King, but that man was gone. His life had been stolen, just like so many other lives in this war. She doubted Boah would have even allowed that man in the first place… it had to be a prince, a mere soldier taking the Holy Throne would not have been acceptable. In the end, Nyna called Hardin to Archanea, even if it tore her heart to so brazenly manipulate him like this.

Nyna had only smiled and accepted the accolades that came with the title of 'Holy Queen'. She was already quite good at keeping her actual feelings off of her face. Since the day of the wedding and his inauguration as Holy King, Hardin enjoyed spending time with his beloved wife. He was oblivious to what was really going on, and oblivious to how deeply Nyna felt her heart tear when he smiled so honestly at her. The Aurelian was not stupid… Nyna wondered just how long she and Boah would be able to keep Hardin in the dark. She felt shallow for not doing anything about this, but she now had no choice but to continue on with the situation she had helped make.

Nyna focused on the portrait she was holding. Slowly, she opened the frame, and grabbed a second picture hidden behind the picture of her and Hardin. This picture was of only one person, a man holding a lance in one hand. Dressed in a regal black attire, with handsome features, and a nearly unblemished face. Though his features made him look like a fresh recruit, he was clearly a veteran soldier of no small standing.

He was also Grustian.

When Archanea fell to Dolhr's might many, many moons ago, Nyna had not been lucky enough to escape. She, like her parents, was certain that Archanea could defeat Dolhr and its allies by itself. They didn't have anywhere near the strength necessary to do that. It took only a single week for Dolhr and just one of the Manakete nation's allies, Grust, to wipe away any belief that Archanea could defeat them single-handedly. Nyna's parents were hung at the Palace gates as a powerful example of what would happen to those who opposed the new regime. Nyna was put into custody, held in the halls of the place that she once knew as her home, the place that should have always been the most secure.

She was held by Grust's most elite unit: The Sable Order. Even one man of this order of knights could have defeated several battalions of Archanean elites single-handedly. Nyna was held by the leader of the order, a man known as Camus The Sable. He was extolled as the greatest warrior alive, something Nyna no longer doubted.

Nyna had hated the man. White-hot fury was the only thing she felt for him, for all of the Grustians. Not only had they killed Nyna's parents, walked freely in her house, and reduced her to a prisoner in her own room, they were acting as servants to the Manaketes of Dolhr. The Manaketes, dragons who masqueraded as human beings, were a race that wished nothing less then the complete subjugation, or failing that, the extinction of humans.

Yet, that feeling changed in due time. While the Dolhrians made their contempt for Nyna and her bloodline clear, Camus regarded her differently. The man, who had likely slain more then his share of Archanean soldiers, treated her with kindness, and put his position on the line to defend her from Dolhr's brutalities. At first, the idea that she had a member of the Sable Order to thank for not being chained up and viciously flogged seemed more horrible a notion then the beatings themselves, but, Camus…

The man endured the barbs of her words without complaint. He could have easily silenced her with a blow, gagged her, or any number of things that would have shut up the raging princess. Yet he calmly listened to her fury, standing serenely as she shook with rage, and… he responded to that hatred with honest concern for her well-being. Her perception of him, her feelings for him, changed. It did not happen overnight, and at first she was disgusted with herself, but…

She… had grown to care for the man who had probably slain scores of men who had laid down their lives for her. The man, who seemed to be the only person with any real honor in the ever growing collection of shallow armies who were swearing allegiance to Dolhr, had done much to put her at peace. For some time, Nyna believed it was a month, Nyna felt almost happy, despite her status as a prisoner, surrounded by so many people who shook with rage over the fact she yet drew breath.

Then the day had come that Dolhr's Emperor himself, the dragon Medeus, had ruled that Nyna be executed, putting an end to Archanea's royal bloodline. It would be Nyna's punishment for being the descendent of Artemis, the one who played an integral role in defeating Medeus in antiquity. Rather then break away from Nyna and obediently let the sentence be carried out, Camus, caring nothing for what punishment might await him, spirited Nyna out of the Palace.

She fled to Aurelis on his command as he prepared to face the Dolhr troop pursuing them. She eventually learned that Camus ultimately surrendered to Dolhr after he had defeated, but not killed, one of the Manaketes. She never knew what sort of punishment Camus faced for what he did. In fact, she had heard nothing of him even up to the point that prince Hardin of Aurelis met with prince Marth of Altea, and with Nyna's blessings, joined together to challenge Dolhr. The forming of their combined army, the Archanean League, at best a rough coalition of the armies of nations that Dolhr had broken, was the turning point of the war. As they scored victory after victory against the previously seemingly invincible might of Dolhr, she wondered if ever they would find Camus.

They did find him again, in what would be the darkest day in Nyna's life. The next time she met him, he was still fighting for Dolhr's sake, and it was only a few short hours before he was stolen from her forever. She had foolishly entered the battlefield and pleaded that he would join her and her cause, but he declined her offer. Camus returned Nyna's affections, and was pained that he and she were on opposite sides, but the knight's greatest loyalty remained to his nation. A nation that, thanks to the League's victories, was crumbling and wasting away.

After that, the Archanean League met the Sable Order and… most likely slew Camus. A body was never recovered, but…

Her mind jolted back to the present, unable to bring itself to relive that cold day any further. To any other, the defeat of Grust's finest should have been cause for celebration, it was a day of triumph, and the end of another nation that had allied itself with Dolhr. It took all of Nyna's remaining willpower to resist the urge to drive an Archanean knife into her chest on the night of the day Camus fell at another's hand.

She had spaced out, breathing hard as she was focusing entirely on the picture of Camus. For a moment her vision was blurred, it took several seconds for her to realize that her vision was misting up. Even now, so long since that day, the simple thought of Camus sent her to tears. The wound her heart bore was not healing with time, it likely would never begin to heal.

Looking around, she was relieved that no one had entered into her bedchambers without her noticing. So far, she had kept this picture of Camus secret from everyone, including Hardin and Boah. Boah would likely destroy it if he found it. Every time Nyna opened the frame, she dreaded that had happened, the picture would be gone, and she would not have even the weak shade of Camus anymore. She was not sure how Hardin would react. However the Aurelian would react… everyone across the continent would have known of the pain and heartache of the Holy King.

Placing the picture back into the frame and putting the picture of herself and Hardin over it, she put the frame back down onto the shelf and went back to the seat of her bed. Her face was buried into one hand. She had brooded over this ever since the day Camus was lost forever on the fields of Grust. Likely, she would brood to her dying day for what could have been and now would never be.

Everything seemed so… pointless, now. Without Camus, Nyna felt like a composer gone deaf, or a painter gone blind. She had lost something that felt like a part of her soul. She was less then what she could be, less then what she _should_ be. When she reflected on her past, before the war started, she felt like a fool to have once thought to have found happiness anywhere besides in Camus. When she thought about it at length, the simple act of breathing seemed a bothersome chore. It felt like there was no reason to go on.

Yet, she knew that she _had_ to go on, no matter what she wanted to do. She had to put her feelings and wants aside and live for her duties. There was, at this point, nothing else for her to live for. For the sake of the continent as a whole… the bloodline of Archanea's royal family could not be lost. Perhaps the only goal she had left in life was to produce children, prolong her bloodline, then with that duty fulfilled she would wait for death to claim her.

Her head turned to the window. She felt the progression of time, and knew that the night was stretching out. She had to take to sleep, else be unable to tend to her duties when she woke up. Sighing, she stood up and moved to the edge of her bed. The sheets were soft, so soft. Appropriate for the bed of a Holy Queen. The cushion and sheets were made with expensive imported materials, it was perhaps the most comfortable and relaxing bed across the continent. She laid herself down, not bothering to pull the covers over her. She closed her eyes slowly, and while she was kept awake for a time by the relentless sick feeling of separation from Camus, sleep eventually took its hold. Only in dreams, the stories her mind weaved, could she truly see Camus again. It would only be a weak shade of the Grustian she gave her heart to so long ago, but… it, and the picture she kept hidden, was all the solace she would ever have anymore.

For the short time of sleep, she could be just partially freed from the agony of living a life without Camus.

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